


personal space

by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, POV Danny "Danno" Williams, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-07 10:22:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18618688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch/pseuds/LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch
Summary: Five times Danny misinterprets Steve's questionable romantic overtures as a SEAL thing, and one time he doesn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely self-indulgent, but I thought I'd share anyway. The following two chapters are written for the most part and I'll post them over the next week before heading back to my scheduled stuff. 
> 
> I enjoyed writing this a lot, and I hope y'all enjoy reading it.

The first time it happens is when they crash at Steve’s house after having wrapped up a case that involved way too much running, jumping off buildings and wrestling with perps for Danny’s liking, but made Steve grin his crazy Cheshire cat grin, the one that splits his face and makes hardened criminals wet their pants. So, same as every case he ever had with Five-0.

Danny’s got a crick in his neck that throbs and stings like a hot needles embedded in his muscle. Steve shoots him a long look.

“Strained your shoulder, huh?”

Danny hums non-committedly. It’s not like he got shot (again), so he’s not about to make a big deal out of it.

Steve sets his beer on the coffee table. “Turn around.”

Danny chuckles. “What, you offering me a massage?”

Steve’s not laughing. “As a matter of fact, I am.” He doesn’t elaborate on that, and seems unfazed by the fact that this is a bizarre offer. Must be a Navy thing. Danny tries to repress the unwanted image of Steve bending over another body and kneading a strong back. He searches Steve’s face for any indication he’s messing with him. There’s none, just a blank look telling him to not make a _thing_ out of this.

“Okay,” he says slowly and turns around, one bent knee up on the couch, the other leg stretched out. He squares his shoulders, rolls out some of the tension.

Steve huffs softly. “Your shirt, Danno. Loose it. I’ll be right back.”

Danny watches Steve stroll out of the room. As if this is completely normal. Just two dudes hanging out together, having beers and massages, like bros do. He rolls his eyes heavenward. But he starts undoing his buttons all the same. He’s aware he developed this habit of just going along with Steve’s crazy in the last months. He’s either a masochist or way too gone on Steve McGarrett to be capable of rational decisions anymore. In his more lucid moments, which he tries to avoid, he’s pretty sure it’s the latter.

His shirt falls down his shoulders and he tugs it from his waist, unsure for a moment what to do with it. Toss it over the back of the couch? Keep it in his lap to show he’s ready to pull it on the second they’re done? He opts for the second option. Danny’s got a quite clear idea of what his reaction to having Steve’s hands all over him will look like.

Embarrassing, for one. But it will be less obvious with a bunch of fabric in his lap.

In what feels like an hour in which Danny can only sit there, half-naked and confused, he steels himself for what’s to come. This is just another thing McGarrett does. Like giving tight, long hugs that feel way to intimate for work partners. Like getting out of the water after a swim, dripping and glistening in the sun like a Greek god and smiling at Danny as if that’s the way to greet your partner and not give him a stroke. That man is a menace, and for all his wittiness, he seems absolutely oblivious to what he does to Danny and his vow to not climb his partner like a tree.

Danny closes his eyes and hangs his head. It puts strain on his sore muscles but at least the pain keeps his mind out of the gutter and clears it somewhat. He doesn’t hear Steve approaching, that sneaky Ninja, only feels the couch dip behind him and then smells the citrus scent of what has to be some kind of massage oil, and Danny closes his eyes a little more until tears sting at the corner. He wrings the fabric in his lap.

“Relax, Danno. God, you’re always so tense.”

Danny huffs a laugh but doesn’t comment. There’s exactly one reason he’s always tense, and that reason is over 6 feet tall, brown haired and lacks any sense of self-preservation. That reason sits right behind Danny right now, close enough that Danny can feel his breath on his skin, right where a fine sheen of sweat forms at his nape, a cool spot that gets colder when a warm hand lands on his shoulder.

“I promise, I’m good at this.” Steve sounds like he’s comforting a frightened animal. Danny realizes he’s been holding his breath, and lets it out slowly. Of course Steve will be good at this, Danny would bet money on it, because Steve’s good at everything he does with his big capable hands, and he’s got to stop that line of thought right now, strangle it before it does any more damage.

“Yeah,” he says and hates how sincere and breathless he sounds. “I trust you.”

To the surprise of absolutely nobody, least of all one Daniel Williams, Steve really is good at giving massages. He attacks the sore muscle in Danny’s back and shoulder with the single-minded focus he usually reserves for terrorists and mob bosses. He finds every single painful knot and prods it till it caves, ignoring Danny’s protests and pitiful moans. As massages go, it’s highly effective and way less sensual than Danny had feared.

For the most part, he is fine. He’s in a lot of pain, but he’s fine.

Half an hour in, Steve stops and tells Danny to roll his head, see if there’s any lumps of knotted fiber he missed. Danny does as told and finds his back more relaxed than … in a very long time. He turns his head and lifts his shoulders to find it all mellow and loose. He could fall asleep right there.

“It’s all gone. Thank you,” he says and turns to grin at Steve, who smiles back, a little proud and softer than his usual radiant smile.

Steve holds his eyes for a second longer, blinks, claps his hands as if he just fixed an engine and gets up, snatching the oil bottle from the table.

He doesn’t turn when he murmurs, “glad I could help, Danno.”

Danny tugs on his shirt, buttons it. The fabric clings to his oily skin. His back is warm, and he can still feel Steve’s strong fingers all over it. While it was fine when it happened, now Danny’s body, relaxed as he is, seems determined to make up for lost time. The reality of having Steve touching him like that crashes down on him and drops a fiery ball of longing and need right in his gut.

He struggles to stand, wonders for a second why Steve’s not back yet, and decides he’s got to go. Right now.

“Uhm, Steve?” No answer. “I’m kinda tired, I’m heading home, okay?”

Steve’s “Kay, bye,” is muffled and barely audible.

Danny lets himself out, thankful for the gust of fresh night air, and shakes his head at himself.

 

///

 

The second thing happens after a night out with the crew. They had lot of beers, a few shots and a frilly cocktail Steve insisted on at one point, and Danny’s pleasantly buzzed when he stumbles out of the bar, still laughing about one of Chin’s rare jokes.

Steve’s right next to him, lilting a bit to the side, bumping Danny’s shoulder.

They walk in silence. Danny’s apartment is just a few hundred yards away. Steve came over to pick Danny up a few hours earlier and parked his truck on the street. So. It’s completely reasonable that they’d walk back together. Oh, wait –

He’s looking at his apartment door, then back at Steve’s truck, then back at his door, then at Steve, who’s swaying on his feet like a palm tree in the ocean breeze.

“You should have called a cab. No way I’m letting you drive like this, McGarrett.”

He looks up at Steve’s ridiculously handsome face, wondering how he can be even more handsome when he’s got a few beers in him, all the hard lines softened, smiles coming easy like gentle waves.

“Thought I could crash here,” Steve mumbles and points at Danny’s door.

“Haha, no way. I only got that pull-out couch, remember?”

Steve nods, earnest and slow, quite possibly because any larger motion would be disturbing his equilibrium. “Yeah, no problem. I don’t mind sharing.”

And with that, he claps Danny on the shoulder and walks over to the door, clearly waiting for Danny to open it.

Danny’s sluggish mind needs a few second to catch up. What on earth--

He fumbles his keys out of his pocket and opens the door, steps inside and pokes a finger in Steve’s chest, Steve, who was just stepping inside as if there was nothing else to discuss, as if Danny had offered and Steve was polite enough to accept to Sleep. In. Danny’s. Bed.

With. Danny. In. It. Okay he’s gotta stop using full stops in his inner voice, but seriously, what the hell--

“No problem?” Danny knows his voice is high enough to sound hysterical, and if he were any more sober, he’d be shouting. “Steve, you can’t sleep here.”

Steve’s eyes are wide like a puppy’s, and it’s a look that managed to turn Danny’s resolve to dust before, but this. Seriously.

“Why not? It’s not a big deal, Danno. I swear I won’t hog the covers.”

And with that, he gingerly steps around Danny and walks over to the pull-out. “You got a spare blanket?”

Danny rubs a spot between his eyebrows that threatens to bloom into a headache. He listens while Steve rummages around in his closet, no doubt searching for a blanket. The door is still open and Danny shuts it quietly, rooted in the same spot.

Steve, he reminds himself, clearly has not clue about normal human behavior. Those SEALs probably sleep in close quarters all the time, in the trenches and on long stakeouts.

Danny’s suddenly very, very tired. And he’s very, very drunk. That’s the only reason he drops his shoulders and gives in.

Steve is standing in the middle of the room, his t-shirt halfway up his chest and over his head, his body one long line of lean muscle that ripples under the soft yellow light of the street lamp outside. Danny’s breath lodges in his throat.

Okay, fatigue and too much to drink are not the only reasons he’s not putting up more of a fight. Danny always prided himself for being honest at least with himself. It’s pathetic, but he agrees to this because, even if Steve does it only to save the money for a cab, Danny will take this chance to spend the night together. Because, apparently, Danny is a sucker for torturing himself, ready to lie next to a half-naked man he spent the last months pining for, listening to him snore and not being able to reach out and touch like he wants to so very badly.

Steve’s down to his boxers and falls headfirst on the bed, before he crawls under the covers. His former career made sure he can sleep whenever wherever, and a few seconds later, his breathing evens out and he’s out. Danny undresses quietly, goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth while avoiding his own gaze, frightened to see accusations there he’s not ready to face. He stands next to the bed for a long time, watching the rise and fall of Steve’s chest. His head is mushed into the pillow, lips slightly parted. While Danny was ready and brazed himself for the surge of lust at seeing Steve half-naked, he wasn’t expecting the warm rush of affection the sight of sleeping, soft, vulnerable Steve causes.

With a sigh, he lifts his own blanket and slips under it, face away from Steve and the image he makes. He lies on the very edge of bed, precariously balanced.

Danny doesn’t sleep that night. When Steve gets up at 6am and leaves, Danny pretends he doesn’t hear him. Only when the door falls shut, he takes a deep shuddering breath. He fights his impulse to roll over and press his face into the pillow Steve just vacated.

He succeeds for a whole of four minutes.

Considering how completely gone he is for his partner, he’s got to count that as a win.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's dial the temperature up a notch, shall we? And add a pinch of angst...
> 
> (This is the self-indulgent part I warned you about, and also where this fic starts earning its rating and a few new tags. Maybe don't look too closely at the timeline, bc I genuinely have no clue how this fits into canon.)
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who commented and subscribed, I never anticipated the positive feedback and it made my day!

 

Steve is in Danny’s space all the time. He always was, but for the last few weeks, Danny is acutely aware of how close Steve sits next to him in the car, how close he stands when they’re conducting interviews, how close he crowds to Danny when they’re out with the crew.

Steve’s a constant presence by his side. There was a time when that felt comforting. Now it’s only making Danny aware of how much he wants something he can’t have. Danny knows he should put some space between them, take a few days off maybe and try to get that hopeless notion that there could ever be anything more between them to rest. Maybe find a willing partner for a night and get it out of his system.

Deep down he knows it won’t work. Steve wormed his way too deep under Danny’s skin, so much that Danny’s sure he won’t be rid of him without cutting him out of his life with a machete, without risking a wound that might just be fatal.

The third _instance_ happens at work. They wrapped up a crime scene and one of the victims got blood all over Steve who ripped off his shirt and used it to still the blood-flow till the EMTs arrived. Back at the office, he heads straight to the showers, but Danny stops him.

“You gotta hear this,” he starts and opens a file Kono handed him on the way in.

“What I gotta do is shower. Bring the file, we’ll talk while I get this off me,” Steve answers, pointing at the dark blotches on his olive t-shirt and tugging the fabric away from his skin with a wet sound.

Danny gapes at the spot where Steve just stood, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before he grinds his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. Steve can’t possibly be serious, he – except he can, Danny realizes, because he’s Steve and he has no qualms however about being naked in front of other people.

Wet and naked.

Wet and soapy and naked.

Danny’s heart is thundering in his ears while he weighs his options. They have to work fast on this, because one of the perps is on the run, and he can’t believe he’s doing this, but he follows Steve, sits down on a bench next to the lockers and opens the file. He clears his throat and starts going over the deets.

Danny does not look up, he doesn’t. Because he likes his sanity (or what’s left of it) intact, thank you very much.

“So our guy works at a local security firm,” Danny says over the sounds of the shower.

“Which one?” Steve asks, and Danny still does not look up. He searches the file, but the words are blurry and he can’t concentrate all that well.

“Miller Security,” he answers at last. The sloshing sounds indicate Steve’s stepping under the spray, probably to wash the shampoo out of his hair. He’ll lift his arms to do it, Danny thinks, rake his fingers through the dark, wet strands, and his bicep will bulge with the motion, tattoos dancing, his back slightly bowed back--

“I know the boss,” Steve tells him. Danny needs a second to remember what he’s talking about.

“Yeah? We should check him out,” Danny mumbles. A plastic bottle is opened, the squirting noise of some liquid and then the tell-tale skin-on-skin sound of someone soaping up his body. Steve will wash up with efficient movements. His hands will be running all over his body to get the blood stains off. Thick white suds will slowly drag down from his collarbone, over his chest, over his stomach--

Danny snaps the file shut. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

When he stands, his gaze slips, just once, but it’s enough. Steve has his back to him. His head hangs forward while he lets the hot water pelt down on his neck and shoulders. Ropes and ropes of lean muscle form the artful landscape of Steve’s back, taper down to his waist and into the most perfect ass Danny ever had the pleasure to lay his eyes on. Danny’s never been much for creative art, but he finds his fingers itching with the need to sculpt those lines from clay or draw them in charcoal, just to preserve this image for later generations.

Soft skin, two shades lighter than the rest of Steve’s body, and Danny’s heart clenches a bit at how vulnerable and human that tan line looks.

He wants to run his hands and lips all over those curves, bite marks into that part of Steve that even the sun doesn’t get to see. The file crumples in his hand. He looks down at his white-knuckled fist.

 Danny leaves without waiting for Steve’s answer.

 

///

 

Two weeks pass, and Danny’s slowly getting the hang of ignoring his silly crush on his partner. That’s what he tells himself anyway.

It’s another late night at Steve’s house, they grilled steaks with Kono and Chin, and then their colleagues left, and just as always, Danny stayed.

Steve pesters him into watching American Gods, because he’s obsessed with Neil Gaiman, that big nerd, and Danny refused to read the book, but is unable to deny Steve watching the show. It doesn’t matter much what’s on when he sits on this couch anyway. His whole body is tuned to the person next to him, and he has a hard time focusing on whatever they watch together.

Shadow meets Wednesday, and Danny gives up following the twisted plot halfway through the second episode to concentrate instead on Steve’s delight watching the protagonists stumble through the apocalyptic adventure. Then the djinn meets the cab driver, and Steve wriggles in his seat.

“Uhm,” Steve says, and Danny glances at the TV, wondering what brought this reaction about.

He gets his answer when Jinn and Salim enter a shabby motel room. Danny has a dull sense of foreboding and catches another glimpse at Steve’s face, which is considerably redder than a moment before. He never pegged Steve as someone who would have a problem with a gay sex scene before, but it looks like he’s about to learn something new about his partner.

“What, does that make you uncomfortable?” Danny waves his hand at the screen, sure that the scene will end in a fade-to-black anytime now.

Well, it doesn’t.

His eyes are glued to the TV as djinn and cab guy get naked, kiss, fall onto the bed. He snatches his beer from the couch table, mouth dry all of a sudden. A warm flush creeps up his back. The guys on TV have sex, skin gleaming in the low light, and he’s sitting a few inches from Steve, and because life isn’t fair, his body reacts to both the action on screen and the warmth radiation from the man next to him.

Two minutes in, his attempts to will his dick down prove to be futile. Heat pools in his stomach, and he feels himself filling out in his slacks.

The scene still isn’t over. Steve adjusts his position again—

Danny’s gaze falls down between Steve’s legs without a conscious decision to do so, and snaps back up to the TV fast enough to make him dizzy. So, okay, what happens on the show doesn’t make Steve uncomfortable, or it does, but not in the way Danny thought it would.

He grabs the pillow next to him very slowly, in what he thinks is a stealthy move, and tugs it into his lap, biting his lip to keep from moaning just from that small contact to his dick.

Steve’s still watching the screen when Danny checks next, so he counts that as a win. Steve’s right palm is spread on his thigh. The bulge in his sweat pants it unmistakable. Steve doesn’t look at him when he speaks.

“I don’t remember that scene being so long in the book,” he rasps, apologetic.

“Uh-huh,” Danny answers, not really hearing him, because Steve’s hand just inched just a little bit up his thigh over the last minute and he remembers about that stroke he promised himself not to suffer because of McGarrett. It seems he’s gonna break that promise.

“I’d better--,” he starts and pulls the pillow from his lap to stand and leave and never think about all this again. Steve is no longer watching the screen. He’s staring at Danny’s lower body, and Danny, though he knows full what he’s going to see, follows his gaze. Yeah, even in the low light, there’s no use denying it. He’s hard as a rock inside his slacks, and the fabric strains obscenely under the onslaught.

“Stay,” Steve murmurs, then clears his throat, averts his eyes. “Uhm, I mean, it’s okay, you know…”

Danny sinks back into the cushions, stunned. He’s sure he didn’t hear that right. “What are you suggesting here, Steven?”

Steve lifts one shoulder and lets it fall back down. His hand has inched higher again. That man is gonna be the death of me, Danny thinks.

“So, we just sit here and take care of it, no big deal?” Danny’s voice is shrill even to his own ears. Steve just shrugs again. And maybe, to him, this is a completely normal conversation to have. Danny often wondered how that worked in the military, all those young guys, in peak physical condition with a stressful occupation – well, something like this must happen now and then.

“I--,” Steve starts and licks his lips. “It’s not--,” he starts again, then sets his jaw. “I don’t mind,” is what he settles for, and Danny has an inkling it’s not what he really wanted to say, but he can’t for life of him figure out what he’s missing here. If, and that’s a big if, because Steve made no implication he wants more from Danny than what they have, if Steve wanted this to lead to something, it would be a ridiculous move. It would be so much easier just to close the distance between them and kiss Danny. Or, you know, Steve could ask him out first. So, ergo, this had to be just what it looks like. Two bros getting riled up and rubbing one out on the couch.

“Okay,” he hears himself say.

He keeps his eyes forward when he opens his zipper with trembling fingers and slides his hand into his boxer briefs. He hasn’t touched his cock inside his underwear since he was fifteen and it feels weird and too tight, but he will not do this naked, he will not.

Steve has no such problems, because he’s got those comfy sweatpants and, Danny tries not to think about it, possibly goes commando underneath. He doesn’t look, but he can see Steve’s hand slipping under the fabric and finds his suspicion confirmed by the motions of Steve’s hand. No way he’d have that much room to maneuver otherwise.

Danny doesn’t have the luxury of full strokes, so he concentrates on the head and thumbs at his glands, a sure-fire way to get him close in no time. The soft sounds from the other end of the couch do the rest. He can imagine all too well coaxing those sounds out of Steve with his own hands and mouth. When a low moan reverberates through the room, his heart stumbles over itself.

He knows he will regret this later, but to hell with it, he turns his head to see what Steve’s doing. The sight is positively debauched. Steve’s big hand is moving under the tented fabric of his sweat pants and his chest is heaving in time with the motions. A dark spot forms on the grey material and Danny watches, rapt, as it spreads. Steve’s whole body is turned to him, and when Danny lets his gaze travel up the long lines of his body, he finds Steve’s dark eyes focused on Danny.

And this. This makes is so much more intimate than Danny is really ready for. His cock jumps in his hand, and pleasure curls like a snake in his gut, a searing tension that’s oh-so-ready to snap. Gazes locked, paces matched, they rush for the finish line together. Steve is panting through parted lips, rough groans slipping out now and then, and Danny can see the built-up in the strain of his neck. It's possibly the hottest thing Danny has seen in the thirty-something years he spent on this earth.

Steve doesn’t look away, doesn’t close his eyes when he comes. A wave shakes his whole body and he gushes out a soft sigh. Danny will never be able to forget that sight, how all the tension leaves Steve all at once, and leaves behind a softer, relaxed version of him. Steve’s half-closed eyes flicker down to where Danny still pumps into his own fist in quick aborted thrusts.

He’s never been much of an exhibitionist, but somehow, that does it for him, knowing Steve’s watching, waiting for him to come. His climax catches him by surprise, a steady plateau of pleasure one second, a rush of heat from his toes up to his groin the next. It punches a low cry out of him, cock jerking in his hand and spitting out his release. Steve gasps, as if seeing Danny keys him up again.

Danny falls back into the soft cushions and closes his eyes. The high of his orgasm is cut short by the building sense that this was a very bad idea. The fact that he’s still got his hand in his come-drenched underwear doesn’t help things. He feels like the biggest idiot on earth.

Neither of them says anything about what just happened. Danny knows he should crack a joke about how this was fun and should they get another beer, but he finds that he can’t. He fooled himself thinking he could just get past this and forget about the fact that he now knows how Steve looks when he comes. The show that Danny will never be able to watch again without thinking about this plays on, fills the room with chatter he’s too exhausted to follow.

When Steve gets up mumbling something about getting cleaned up, Danny gathers himself, wipes his hand on his slacks and stands on wobbly feet. The living room with the old, big, ugly couch doesn’t look any different than an hour before, but somehow, everything has changed.

With his come slowly starting to dry in his pants, Danny scrapes together the last shreds of his dignity and leaves.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluff and important realizations.

 

 

They don’t talk about what happened.

Steve and him – they get so good at not talking about it that Danny catches himself wondering if it happened at all.

After a while there are whole hours in which he doesn’t think about that little sigh that marked Steve’s climax. Yeah, he’s getting pretty good at compartmentalizing, at least at work. At home, not so much. His waste bin looks like that of a teenager, and he switched to larger bottles of lube because the small ones run dry every couple of days. His dick hasn’t seen this kind of action for years, and it’s all Steve’s fault.

Steve and that fucking sigh.

But all in all, compartmentalizing and repression work out fine. Steve is trigger-happy just like always, maybe even a little bit more so than usual, and Danny, for once, is glad about it, because there’s no room to think about your messed-up personal life when you have to dodge bullets left and right. A few weeks in, Danny is sure he can do it, get over it, get on with his life.

He’ll look back to that moment later and wonder how anyone can be that fucking stupid.

There’s a ball happening at the Navy headquarters. Steve gets the invitation when they’re brooding over a case in Steve’s office, and tosses it on the trash heap after a quick look.

“What’s that?” Danny asks, and snatches the envelope from Steve’s desk and opens it, but waits for Steve’s permission to read it.

Steve waves his hand in a go ahead-motion and grumbles something about social functions, makes the word sound like he’s talking about rotten fruit.

The ball’s happening this weekend, and Steve’s invited to bring a plus one. The paper’s thick and when Danny unfolds it, a personal note from the Colonel falls out that says he’d be delighted to see Steve there.

“You don’t want to go,” Danny muses.

“Your analytic skills are mind-boggling, Danno, what gave me away?” Steve is already busy scribbling down something in the open file in front of him. If Danny needed another clue that Steve does not want to talk about it, this would be it. Steve never ever chooses paperwork if there’s any other option to pass the time. Explosions, getting shot at, fighting ten mobsters hand-to-hand.

Danny leans his hip against Steve’s desk, earning a quick heated glare, folds his hands in his lap. He ignores the sarcasm.

“Why? You love to dress up in your uniform -- uh-uh --, don’t lie to me, McGarrett,” he admonishes when Steve opens his mouth to deny it. “There will be hundreds of people who’d love to talk about military strategies and submarine engines and how it feels to jump out of a plane over the jungle or whatever it is you people do. And there’s the free booze.” He ticks off the pros on his fingers in a grand gesture.

Steve watches him while he rants. A muscle in his jaw ticks. “You done?”

“For now. Answer my question.”

Steve sighs, shuts the file in front of him and settles back into his chair. “It’s a plus one kind of party,” he says like that’s all the explanation Danny needs.

Danny waves his hands. “Yeah, I read that. So ask someone to go with you.”

His lips a thin line, Steve glares at Danny from under his lashes. “And who do you think I should ask?”

A voice at the back of Danny’s head screams _Me, ask me!,_ but he ignores it. The mere thought of Steve with a beautiful woman (or man) by his side, both dressed up and giggly with champagne makes something sour rise in his throat, but he swallows it, like he always does. He’s a grown-up after all, who can quench his feelings if he has to.

He babbles to mask his discomfort. “I dunno, one of your Navy acquaintances. Or how about that barista from the coffee shop? He flirted with you the other day. Or Kono might know a friend—“

Steve stops him with a raised hand. “I don’t want to go out with any those people, Danno.”

Okay, there’s lot Steve is not saying here, Danny hears it in that tone. Steve sounds weary and a little sad, and Danny has not a single clue what brought it one, but he feels his face soften in response, even if a tiny selfish part of him whoops in triumph that apparently there’s no one special in Steve’s life at the moment. That triumphant part obviously short-circuits his self-preserving brain functions, because what stumbles out of his mouth next is nothing short of suicidal.

“I could go with you.”

Steve’s head snaps up. “You would?”

Danny shrugs like it’s no big deal, and for Steve it wouldn’t be, seeing how he has no qualms about things like that, you know, like normal people do.

“Sure,” Danny says, grateful that his voice sounds steady, and doesn’t give away the nervous jitters trembling along his spine. “I still have that suit from the undercover op. We’ll make it a boy’s night out.”

The smile on Steve’s face slips just a little before he plasters it back in place. “Yes. Good idea, we’ll -- uhm -- do that, thank you.”

Danny has a sudden feeling that he did or said something wrong.

 

///

 

The ball is a glamorous affair. Danny waits on the steps that lead up to the sprawling white mansion and watches the couples glide by. Expensive gowns, well-fitting uniforms, it’s like a bisexual dream come true. Danny, though, Danny can appreciate the picture the other guests make, yes, but realizes with a start that he hasn’t turned his head for someone for quite a while. Well, except ...

Steve was invited to a closed-doors meeting on the base before the ball, so Danny drove over by himself. That leaves him in the position to wait for Steve, which does nothing to quiet his nerves. It’s not a date, he tells himself about a hundred times, until the words lose all their meaning. He straightens his tie again, presses it flat against his chest and ignores his hammering heart.

Which stops hammering a moment later.

Because it stops altogether.

Steve is crossing the open space between an office building and the villa with long strides. He’s wearing his uniform, whites and black enveloping his frame like a glove and highlighting all of the many highlights of his body. Broad shoulders, slim waist, strong thighs. Danny’s mouth is parched all of a sudden.

It’s not a date.

It’s not a date.

But holy hell, if it was, Danny would be the luckiest guy alive. The guests around him stop talking to gape at Steve as he ascends the stairs with that cocksure smile playing around his lips, heading straight for Danny, whose mind whirls with half-remembered scenes from that stupid Richard Gere movie that first made him realize he was into guys.

He never stood a chance, did he, against the sudden pang of lust and possessiveness that churns through him with every step Steve takes in his direction. He’s oh so ready to be swept up in those arms and be carried away like a war prize while _Up Where We Belong_ plays in the background.

Steve stops a few feet from him and sweeps his gaze all over him with appreciation twinkling in his eyes. “Looking sharp, Danno,” he whispers, his hoarse voice maybe a little deeper than usual. Danny preens under the attention.

“Not bad yourself, babe,” he answers, matching the tone and covering it with a grin that’s brittle at best. He holds out his arm. “Ready for a party?”

Steve laughs a little, ignores the arm and slings his own around Danny’s shoulder instead. Yeah, right. Not a date.

It’s not a date when Steve snatches two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter’s tablet and hands one to Danny before clinking them together with a soft smile. It’s not a date when Steve steers Danny through the crowd with a warm hand on his lower back. And it’s definitely not a date, when, three hours later, they sway against each other at the edge of the dancefloor and Steve quirks his brow at Danny.

“What, you wanna dance?” Danny laughs.

Steve just bows and holds out his hand, palm up.

It’s a little bit of struggle to get their limbs sorted, until Danny’s right palm is held by Steve’s left, and Danny’s left is on Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s right is on his hip, and Danny looks up into Steve’s too close, happy-drunk-relaxed face, the one that gives Danny heart-palpitations on the best of days and steals his breath right now.

He leans his forehead into Steve’s chest just to get it out of his sight, but regrets that decision instantly, because now he can smell Steve – starch and soap and fresh sweat and _Steve_ , and it’s too much and perfect all at once. He wants to bathe in that scent.

“You smell good,” his stupid mouth mumbles, because all of his careful installed filters seem to have their day off.

Steve’s chest rumbles with pleased laughter and he grips Danny’s hip just a little bit tighter.

“McGarrett!”

Steve’s upper body jostles from a hard clap on his back. Steve turns his head. “Mikey!” A grin spreads over his face and Danny takes a step back to greet the intruder, trying to mask his discontent with a jovial smile. Steve introduces them, gaze flicking from Danny to his old friend and back, before he offers to get them drinks. Danny watches Steve’s retreating back as he makes his way through the crowd.

Mike grins wide at him. “Sorry I interrupted." He motionsin the vague direction of the bar. "Steve looks happy, I’m glad he found someone.”

Danny waves his hands. “No, no, we’re not—you know. We’re partners. At work.” Real smooth, Danny, real smooth. It’s not the first time anyone thinks Steve and him are a couple, and he could laugh about it like every time it happened before, when most of the time he didn’t even bother to correct them, but he finds that it’s not funny anymore when all he wants is to confirm it, wants it to be true with every fiber of his being.

Something must have shown on his face, because Mike’s eyes are full of sympathy that Danny can’t handle right now, so he decides to change the subject.

“So you and Steve served together?”

“Yeah, four years until my arm got mangled and I had to drop out.” Mike holds his right arm up for Danny to inspect. It’s riffled with angry looking scars, old but still vicious.

“Sorry about that,” Danny murmurs.

“No big deal, man. I got back and found a decent job, get to spend lots of time with my family. It’s all good.”

They stare at the dancing couples for a while, and it’s companionable, nice. Danny decides to take the bull by the horns, as his grandma used to say, and do a little digging.

“I always wondered what that looks like, five or six dudes living in each other’s pockets all the time.”

Mike shoots him a sidelong glance, clearly wondering what this is all about, but plays along. “Yeah, we were pretty close. When you’re behind enemy lines, missing your loved ones like crazy, the only comfort you get is with each other.” The crease in his brow challenges Danny to say one word about that. When Danny just nods and smiles encouragingly, Mike shifts a little and goes on. “We were all pretty close. It’s only McGarrett that kept to himself.”

Danny’s eyebrows shoot up at that, he can’t help it. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong, we all trusted him with our lives and he’s still one of the best friends I ever had. But, you know how he is…”

 “How is he?” Danny hears himself croak.

Mike laughs. “You know, always keeping his distance, holding his cards close to his chest. He’s not one for hugging things out, when he can blow things up instead.”

“Who blows what up?”, a raspy voice asks behind them.

Danny turns and plasters a fake smile on his face. “You, babe. You blow things up. Mostly while standing much too close to said thing.”

Steve eyes flicker from Mike to Danny and back. He’s clearly suspecting they’ve been talking about him, but decides to let it go with a shrug. “I brought drinks.”

It’s a lot of beers and several shots later when Mike stands and tells them goodnight. He’s got an early flight and wants to get some sleep. They shake hands.

Danny lets silence fall between them when Mike is gone. His mind moves in sluggish circles. Steve and his lack of physical boundaries always seemed like to be a SEAL thing or at least a Steve thing, but he starts to realize now that it’s maybe more of a Steve-and-Danny thing, which leaves Danny with even more questions than before.

With a few words from Mike his whole perspective shifted. This is how people must feel when they get their first glasses. Or eye surgery. Or when they go out into the sun for the first time after having lived in a cave for years. He never felt so much out of his depth. Because now that he sees clearly on his misconception, where does that leave Steve and him?

He must look like shit, because Steve is in his line of sight all of a sudden, with his Concerned Face all scrunched up, and grips Danny’s shoulder. Huh, he must have swayed a bit. He’s feeling dizzy and disoriented. They should have skipped the shots.

Steve stirs him toward the exit. “Come on, partner, let’s get you home.”

Danny opens his mouth to confront Steve here and now, but the queasy feeling in his gut and the way the lights blur when he moves suggest this might not be the best time to have a heart-to-heart. If he comes clean about his feelings now, he might break his streak of not throwing up, because the mere thought makes his stomach flip like crazy.

He’ll get a good night’s sleep, sober up, do a little thinking on his own, and then – then he’s gonna get to the bottom of this, one way or another.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me and kept getting longer, but I'm quite happy with how it turned out and hope you'll enjoy it, too. 
> 
> Thank y'all for your comments and support! It's my first fic in this fandom and you were all so nice and welcoming, that really means a lot!

It’s a sunny morning like almost every morning on this goddamn island, bright light a slap in the face of a very hungover Danny Williams.

He fell into an exhausted sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, only to jerk upright at dawn with a pounding head and the memory of the last night’s conversations.

Stumbling into his faded jeans, tugging on a t-shirt that smells half-way fresh, he snatches his keys and drives over to Steve’s house.

The front door is open. When Danny enters the living room, the golden sunlight streams in through the big windows. The gurgling of the coffee machine tells him Steve’s up, but the man himself is nowhere to be seen. Danny’s got an idea where he might be, though, and steps out onto the lana’i after grabbing a mug of steaming coffee. As predicted, Steve is returning from his morning swim a few minutes later, rising out of the waves like some kind of sea god with water streaming down his body and shorts riding so low it borders on indecent. Not that Danny would complain (much).

“Danno.” Steve is smiling Danny’s favorite smile, the one that lights up his face and makes his eyes crinkle, perfect white teeth gleaming like pearls in the sunlight. Steve shakes his head like a dog before he grabs the towel waiting on the deck chair and starts drying off with quick, efficient movements. Danny is aware that he is staring, but right this moment, he can’t find the resolve to stop. Steve and his ridiculous body and his goddamn hands and that unfair curve of his mouth have been a constant presence in Danny’s thoughts for so long, he’s given up trying to shut them out.

 “You okay, Danno?”

Steve stands a little closer, a look of concern on his face, the towel forgotten in his right hand.

Danny snaps back to reality. Okay, last night, and Mike said—all those things, and all of a sudden, Danny’s furious. It’s unfair, the things Steve puts him through, seemingly unaware of how it makes Danny feel. It’s an irrational rage, Danny knows that, because his feelings are not Steve’s fault, but seriously–

“Would it hurt you to not be naked in front of me just, I don’t know, for one day! Seriously, Steven, I get that you have a twisted conception of human decency but this is getting out of hand,” he gestures at Steve’s form and gnashes his teeth.

“Whoa,” Steve holds up his hands as if Danny is pointing a gun at him. “You came here unannounced. I think I’m allowed to go for a swim on my own beach. And we live on Hawai’i, man, you should really get over your prudish inhibitions!”

“That’s not -,” Danny rakes a hand through his hair, which will be hell to coif again later, but he can’t help it, “it’s not just the nakedness, Steve. You’re in my space all the time! Like, massages? Dancing? People don’t just do that! Where I come from, it means something, okay, and I can’t–“ He waves his hands again, not clear on what he really wants to say here.

Steve’s face goes through about five different expressions as he’s trying to process what Danny said. In any other situation, it would look comical, but right now, it makes panic rise in Danny’s throat. His lungs feel too tight. He gave away too much, he can see _realizations_ dawn on Steve’s face.

When Steve speaks again, his voice is deceptively calm. The expression he settles on is a careful mask, but a nerve is ticking in his jaw.

“What does it mean where you come from?” A simple question, but loaded with a lot of undercurrents.

Great, now Danny is at an impossible impasse. Deny everything and look like an asshole, or come clean and (probably, possibly, maybe) loose Steve as a friend and partner. He opens his mouth to say something, anything to fill the uncomfortable silence, but for the first time in his life, nothing comes out.

Steve takes another step toward him. “What does it mean, Danny?” His eyes are intent, his whole focus on Danny, and it lights Danny up from inside, being the center of that unwavering scrutiny, always has. A single drop of water runs down Steve’s throat and slips into the hollow above his clavicle. Danny watches it, mesmerized, licks his lips nervously.

The silence stretches again.

Steve shakes his head a little as if to clear his thoughts, takes a deep breath. “Because where I come from, those are ways to show that you care for someone, that you enjoy their company.”

Danny can only nod. “Yeah, I know that, I’m sorry.” He looks up into Steve’s eyes and finds them searching his own. If he were braver, he would reach out and show Steve exactly what all those things mean to him and more, put it all on the line.

But this is Steve McGarrett. Steve is the most reckless person he knows, he would’ve made a move by now, he would have stormed into Danny’s personal space and made his intentions clear. Everything that happened over the last weeks – maybe that had just been Steve feeling comfortable with him, opening up in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to before.

What right does Danny have to deny him that? To make it all about himself and his stupid crush? None. So Danny holds that gaze a minute longer, before he nods, defeat settling around his shoulder like a yoke. “I know.”

He turns, not before he watches Steve’s face scrunch up in confusion, something like hurt flashing though his eyes before his expression goes into that neutral mode again, the one that gives Danny the creeps.

“I gotta go,” Danny mumbles.

Steve doesn’t say anything, but Danny can feel his eyes on him. He enters the house and walks through its silence back to the driveway and his car, slips into the driver’s seat and …. sits there.

His thoughts are a jumbled mess, his heart hurting with every breath. Somewhere in the last months, he fell in love with his partner, and the realization hits him now – of all times and places to come to that conclusion.

That Steve is an attractive motherfucker – that, Danny had known that first day in the garage.

That Steve’s crazy hero complex and ninja skills are a hell of a turn-on – even if they endangered Danny’s life on a regular basis – yeah, that he had known since he’d had to excuse himself after their first case for a quick detour to the bathroom, hoping nobody had noticed he’d chubbed up in the middle of all the chaos.

That Danny trusted no one on this earth more than Steve and would do basically everything for him – that had been clear pretty soon, too.

But love. He blinks against the sunlight and grips the steering wheel hard enough to hurt. After Rachel, he’d been so sure to never fall for anyone again, and it felt right, somehow, to close himself off and circumvent the potential heartbreak. He’s still breathing fast and shallow, notices it like he’s a bystander, watching himself having a panic attack. He squeezes his eyes closed and controls his breath, just like he learned in therapy – couple therapy with Steve, ha, isn’t that ironic. He snorts, but in the close confines of the car, it sounds an awful lot like a sob.

A knuckle knocks against the glass next to him. Danny doesn’t have to open his eyes to know who it is. He decides to keep his lids closed, a solid barrier between him and the world, but fumbles for the button to roll the window down. It does with an electrical whirr on the same frequency like the buzzing in his head.

“Danno.” Steve sounds tired, careful, resigned. “Danno, look at me.”

Danny turns his head slowly and finds Steve crouching at the other side of the car door. His eyes are wide.

“What do you want, Steve? Honestly, I can’t figure it out. And I’m so very tired of reading into the things you do. So, can we please just once use our words and be honest about this?”

Steve flinches, and Danny would feel sorry for that, but if they still have a chance to get this right, it’s now or never. When Steve opens his mouth and closes it without saying anything, Danny sighs.

“Okay, I’ll go first. I love you, okay, and before you say I love you, too, you gotta know it’s not just that. Like, I’m in love you, Steven, I can’t help it and I only just know realized how ridiculously much I am in love with you. And I want to work this out with you, be with you, but if you don’t want that and I’m crazy for thinking you might want that, you gotta tell me, and I’ll back off, but you have to give me some space to get a grip on it –“

“Me too,” Steve interrupts him, voice cracking.

“What?”

“Me--,” Steve licks his lips, and Danny can’t help but focus on it. “I mean, I am, too. In love with you, that is.”

“What?” There, Steve finally gave him a stroke like Danny always predicted, because he’s dumbstruck and obviously can’t form whole sentences anymore. Maybe there’s something wrong with his hearing, too, because he could have sworn Steve said…

Steve curses under his breath, and leans into the car, clearly out of patience for Danny’s slow brain. A large hand grips Danny’s face and tugs him forward, and then those perfect lips he just marveled at crash into his own. It’s not an ideal angle, and Steve’s kiss is more desperation than finesse, but Danny doesn’t care. He meets Steve’s urgency beat for beat, presses forward into the contact with everything he has, because this is finally happening and that thing inside him, the one he tried to hold a lid on for so long, cracks up and spills out right into Steve’s open mouth.

His neck starts to hurt and he pushes against Steve’s shoulder a little bit harder than necessary.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Why didn’t you? I thought I made my intentions pretty clear, Danny.”

“Apparently you didn’t,” Danny grumbles, but Steve might have a point. Danny _might_ have been a bit slow on the uptake.

“So. When you said you didn’t want to go to the ball with those other people, you meant—“

Steve rakes a hand through his hair. “I meant I just want to go with you, Danny.”

“And what about American Gods?”

“Christ, Danny, how could anyone misinterpret that?”

“And the shower and the sleepover. And the slow-dancing?”

Steve just glares.

Danny can’t help it. He grins wide and revels in the answering sparkle in Steve’s eyes. “Can we just agree that we’re both idiots then?”

“Whatever you say, babe, as long as it gets you out of this car.”

Danny keeps smiling as he opens the door and gets out of the seat, only to be slammed against the hood a second later by a solid wall of muscle, and Steve’s mouth is on him again, a hand fisted into Danny’s shirt possessively, and oh god, yeah, he might have a thing for that, for Steve eating him up like he’s the best thing he tasted in his life.

They kiss, deep and savoring, until a giggle wafts over from the neighbor’s house. “Might take that inside, boys,” a voice pipes up. Mrs Miller has a point, Danny thinks, only just now realizing he’s humping Steve’s leg and gripping his ass for leverage. They must look quite indecent.

Steve chuckles against his lips and takes his hand. “Sound like a good idea, what do you think?”

Danny smacks another kiss on those smiling lips, just because he wants to and he can. “Let’s go.”

They stumble into the house between kisses and grabbing at each other’s clothes. Steve loses his t-shirt in the hallway, right next to Danny’s first shoe. The other one drops in the living room, along with his socks and jeans, which resists his blind fumbling and forces him to let go of Steve for precious seconds.

The stairs get littered with Danny’s own shirt and Steve’s shorts, almost causing a fatal incident when Danny loses his balance at the first look at Steve’s cock, curving up against his sculpted stomach, begging Danny to touch and taste.

“Come on, Danny, it’s just a few more steps to the be—“

Steve doesn’t finish his sentence, because Danny sinks to his knees right there, tugs Steve’s down with him until he sits a few steps higher and Danny can settle between his open legs. He licks his lips. It’s been a while since he’s done this, and he’s never wanted anyone’s dick as much as this one, which, yeah, makes Danny a bit nervous now that he’s only inches away. But then Steve opens his thighs a little wider, clearly on board with the plan, and okay, there’s no chickening out of this anymore.

His hands are almost not trembling when he strokes them from Steve’s knees to his hips. He leans in. The first tentative lick brings with it the salt from Steve’s morning swim, and the knowledge that his skin is as satin-smooth as it looks. Steve rewards him with a soft gasp, which is enough to make Danny a little bit bolder, to close his lips around the head and feel the shape out with his lips. When he looks up, he finds Steve’s eyes on him, wide and laser-focused and unwavering, so he smiles around Steve’s cock and goes to work.

His goal: That stare to lose focus, that concentrated look on Steve’s face to melt, to lay bare what’s underneath it. It takes a few bumps against his throat, some experimentation with his tongue and a lot of spit to find out what works for Steve, but as soon as Danny finds one small weakness, he exploits it with vigor. He catalogues every involuntary thrust of Steve’s hips, every helpless moan, and, most cherished, every _please, for fuck’s sake, Daniel_ he can get.

Steve’s hand crawls into his hair, fingers treading softly through it instead of tugging, a tender counterpoint to the tension in his body. Danny’s knees hurt, his neck is so not used to this kind of exercise and his own erection screams at him to get this show somewhere with a horizontal surface and a hand or a mouth or body to rock into, but then he wouldn’t have Steve like this, head thrown back and one hand gripping the banister white-knuckled.

“I—“, Steve mumbles between groans. Danny hums a go-ahead, delighted by the obvious challenge talking poses to Steve.

“Can you--“ Another one of those groans. Steve’s chest is flushed and he’s breathing shallow and fast. While Danny is watching, the blush deepens. He sits up and replaces is mouth with his palm, using the same rhythm as before.

“Can I what, Steve? Use your words.” It’s a mean move, but the sooner Steve learns to tell him what he wants, the better. God knows his subtle hints didn’t work all that well. The last weeks are proof of that.

Steve squinches his eyes shut and inhales with a shudder. The steady motion of Danny’s hand probably isn’t helping. Danny adds a little twirl at the tip for good measure.

“Fuck,” Steve rasps.

Then, quieter. “Fuck me.”

Danny’s hand stops mid-motion when the meaning hits. Heat shoots along his spine, a live-wire curling around his vertebrae. He presses his left palm against his groin and takes a deep breath, slowly, through his nose. Counts to ten.

_Jesus H. Christ._

Steve lifts his head to see what’s happening, and Danny chuckles at the look of utter confusion. Combined with his wide-blown pupils and the plush, bitten lips – well, Danny’ll never tell him that, but right this moment, Steve looks adorable.

Danny shakes his head and slaps Steve’s thigh, trying not to let on how those two words nearly made him lose it right there on the stairs. His knees pop pitifully when he stands and extends a hand to Steve.

“Okay.”

Steve’s eyebrow forms a perfect angle over his right eye. “Okay?”, but he’s taking Danny’s offered hand and comes to his feet with a grace that should be impossible for a human being in his position.

The way to the bedroom is slowed down by a lot more kissing and Danny finally losing his boxer briefs, hips are bumped into door frames and curses mumbled into spit-slick lips, but in the end, Danny has Steve where he wants him, laid out on his bed like an offering, one foot propped up and Danny between his thighs, lube and condoms strewn on the comforter.

“So, did you think about this, that night on the couch?” Danny asks, while he’s slicking up his fingers with shaking hands. He tries to make it sound casual, but Steve sees right through him.

“Maybe. Did _you_?”, and there’s a challenge in there somewhere.

Truth for truth.

“Oh yes,” Danny tells him, “and many times before and after. I’m quite certain there isn’t a sexual act we could participate in that I didn’t imagine.” He draws circles around Steve’s entrance, slicks him up before he slowly presses inside. They both moan at the tightness and the pressure and the heat.

Steve relaxes gradually under his ministrations, and every second it takes is both torture and bliss. “I have a plan for every room in this house, I’ll have you know,” Danny keeps rambling, because being out of his mind with arousal always makes him talkative. Pretty much like being in mortal danger. So, from now on, if this really is going to be a thing, Danny will never ever shut up again when he’s with Steve.

“The car could be a challenge, but I guess we’ll make it work,” he muses and curls his fingers in a way that makes Steve grab the comforter with both fists as if it’s a lifeline. “At work,” he goes on, breathless, “the showers. I have a lot of ideas for those.”

“Danny,” Steve moans.

“Yes, babe?”

“Please, I want—“ And who is Danny to deny him, really. No need to feel magnanimous about it when he’s shaking with the need to bury himself inside Steve.

He needs a few tries to open the condom wrapper and finds that trembling hands are not ideal for getting that damned thing onto his straining cock, but he’s rescued by another set of hands, hands that are steady even under the most dire circumstances. When the condom is taken care of, Steve curls his fingers around him as if to find out how he fits inside his palm (perfectly, of course), searches Danny lips again for a deep lingering kiss.

Danny doesn’t let go of his mouth when he pushes against Steve’s chest, loathes to lose the contact when he sits up again, but finds the trade acceptable when Steve’s thighs fall open in invitation and his hands stroke up Danny’s arms to his shoulders.

He goes slow, feels Steve’s body greeting and enveloping him like he waited as long for this as Danny, or even longer. It’s a tight fit, and the constant pressure and Steve’s concentrated, open expression and being finally, finally close to the man he called his partner and his best friend and now his lover – it’s almost too much. His heart swells in his chest when their gazes meet and Danny realizes Steve is just as overwhelmed by it all as he is. He stills when he’s fully seated, impossible to get any closer to Steve, and just looks at him, ignores his body urging him to move.

Steve smiles and shakes his head a little. “God, Danny, you’re such a sap,” but he holds Danny’s eyes.

“I? Okay, maybe I am, but you love it, babe, don’t deny it.”

Steve doesn’t deny it. He slings a leg around Danny’s lower back and brings them even closer together, arcs his back when Danny moves. Okay, less talking, more doing, Danny can work with that, so he rocks back and thrusts forward again, punching a cracked moan out of them both.

Steve circles his hips to meet him until they find a steady pace, a perfect combination of rhythm and pressure that has them both sweating and cursing in no time. The bed creaks under their combined weight, and the sea breeze cools their slick skin, and Steve brings a hand to his cock to stroke in time with Danny’s thrusts, and time becomes a concept other people adhere to but has no meaning in this room, and he shouldn’t be surprise how good at this they are together—

“Steve,” he rasps, almost voiceless.

And Steve understands. He curls his long torso up for a quick, sinful kiss, before he lets himself fall back again and grabs the headboard with a nod. Danny’s measured, languid thrusts morph into sharp snaps of his hips, countered, greeted by Steve’s hips. The bed is still creaking, but the slapping sounds of their bodies grow louder, intermingled with half-broken cries and harsh breathing. Danny’s close, so close already, and Steve is tensing up, too.

“Wanna see you come,” he mumbles. “Come on, Steve.”

Never let it be said Steve McGarrett didn’t take orders well. If he agrees with what’s asked of him, that is. In this case, he gives his cock two more, tight and fast strokes and bows off the bed, muscles rippling, and comes in long ropes that splatter up his chest, clenches in waves around Danny’s cock that make him go blind for a few seconds.

There’s no way Danny could stop himself from tumbling right after Steve.

One, two, three deep thrusts, and he’s shaking through his own climax with Steve’s name on his lips, with Steve’s body still shuddering around him, with the scent of Steve’s sweat and come heavy in the air.

When the waves recede, they leave him tingling and bone-deep satisfied. He collapses in an undignified heap upon Steve, cheek to his sweat-slick chest, soft hair tickling his nose, and listens to his Steve’s heart slowing down from thundering to steady.

The position will become real uncomfortable real soon, but right now, Danny can’t think of any better place to be, especially when Steve’s hand is back in his hair and plays with it. Danny hums, content.

“S’nice,” he murmurs with his lips squashed against Steve’s skin.

“I thought you didn’t like anyone touching your hair.”

Danny lifts his head. Steve’s got that special happy grin on him, the one that comes out way too seldom, the one Danny swears he’ll coax out of Steve at least once a day from now on.

“Seems like some rules don’t apply to you,” Danny answers, feels his own face splitting with that same dopey smile.

“Next time, it’s your turn,” he tells Steve. “And you’re gonna wear your uniform.”

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [procasdeanating](https://procasdeanating.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. Come say hi!


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